by Matthew Hall
Shortly after darkness fell Colonel Bellisario of 24 CCS ordered a complete evacuation. Over 200 patients were loaded into a convoy of ambulances together with a large quantity of equipment, and they moved slowly down the road to a small station outside Thebes which Herford had reconnoitred the previous day. This time there were no hitches; the train was loaded successfully and made its way back to Athens.
Herford turned around straight away and was back at Headquarters by dawn on 23 April to receive a welcome mail parcel containing letters from his brother Harold in India and from his sister, Sylvia, both of whom had new babies. Reading these communications he felt a tinge of guilt, both because his mind was so occupied with immediate concerns that he had not been able to write, and also because in the thick of action he found it difficult to share in their joy.
Colonel Johnston outlined detailed plans for the evacuation of the entire Allied force from Greece, codename Operation Demon. The whole expedition had been an unmitigated disaster – the object of the exercise was now to decamp as quickly as possible losing as few men as possible. For the time being at least, Herford did not have to play an organizational role, and was able to pack up his kit and get ready for departure to Athens that evening. He loaded his motorcycle into the back of a 3-ton truck, cleared a space amidst the stacks of equipment to lie down in and slept for most of the journey. That same day the Greek Army surrendered to the Germans. The Greeks had lost several thousand soldiers, the Allies more than 900.
The Greeks were bereft. The tragedy of the situation was summed up in one incident that occurred when Major Versis of the Greek Artillery was ordered to surrender his guns. While his men sung the national anthem he ceremonially shot himself through the head. Herford awoke at dawn on the morning of 24 April to find that the truck had overshot Athens by almost 40 miles and was nearly at Megara, one of the embarkation points for the evacuating troops. He banged on the cab and made the driver stop. He had been ordered to report to Brigadier Large, the Director of Medical Services in Greece, who was based in the capital. Herford unloaded his motorcycle and, cursing himself, set off back along the road, negotiating the numerous wrecked military and civilian vehicles at the roadside and no fewer than 56 dead mules, all of which had been mercilessly machine gunned by fighter planes.
He was greeted at Brigadier Large’s office with exclamations of ‘Oh, so you’re the man everyone is talking about!’ He learned that Lieutenant Colonel Mollan’s evacuation with 189 LFA and 24 CCS had been subject to some investigation, and Herford was asked to confirm Colonel Alexander’s evacuation orders in writing. Herford duly obliged, and later found out from Mollan that he had saved him from a court martial for failing to remain with his unit to await capture. Herford was able to confirm Alexander’s order that the Dunkirk plan be adopted.
Brigadier Large then asked, ‘Can you drive a lorry? Because there is something I want done very urgently.’ Herford gave a distinctly cautious ‘Yes’. He had a little experience in Spain, but the Greek roads demanded more than superficial skills.
Large explained that he simply didn’t have any drivers available. The navy was concerned that the evacuation wasn’t going to happen as quickly as they had hoped. Any delay would probably result in several battles taking place in the Peloponnese. There was a dire shortage of medical equipment, so someone was required to drive a 3-ton truck loaded up with supplies from the Base Medical Stores down to the port of Argos, some 150 miles to the south-west. The objective was to get the stores to 189 LFA, or otherwise to distribute them as best he could among the medical units. Brigadier Large telephoned for the lorry, and with no instruction Herford was told to get on with the job. Minutes later he loaded his motorcycle into the back of the empty truck and climbed tentatively behind the wheel of what felt like a double-decker bus, before he gingerly eased the growling diesel engine into gear. Picking his way carefully amidst the reckless pedestrians and trams, he managed to find his way to 26th General Hospital where he was to load up with supplies. But venturing inside he found that most of the staff had already been evacuated, and the rest were rushed off their feet preparing for the removal of the more serious cases. The supplies he required were up on the fourth floor, and it was simply impossible for one man to load them unaided. There was no alternative but to at least make a start on the job. As he was loading the truck he noticed two young Greek men and two women peering over the railings at him, their curiosity aroused by the boxes of supplies. Herford called them in and enlisted their help loading up. He rewarded them with blankets, but after they left he suddenly regretted not having offered them whatever they wanted. They were shortly to be occupied by an invading German army, and years of even greater hardship were bound to follow.
With the lorry well and truly laden down, Herford set off on his journey. With all the added weight in the rear it now felt like steering a ship, and driving took immense concentration. Having travelled some hours and overcome with hunger and fatigue, he pulled up at a small roadside taverna to buy some food to eat en route. As he waited at the back of the restaurant he sensed the acute difference between his pressing mission and the relatively relaxed atmosphere amongst the diners, who were carrying on almost as normal. Their country had effectively surrendered to an aggressor, and now they had little to do except sit and wait for the Germans to arrive. He sat alone in the corner, a young, square-jawed English officer wearing an ever so slightly anxious expression, which gave him a permanent look of concern.
A few minutes later a waiter approached with a note. Mystified, Herford unfolded it, and read that the author wished to see him in the cloakroom. Cautiously he rose to his feet and made his way around the corner and along the passage out of view of the main dining room. Waiting for him there was a brown-eyed, olive-skinned Greek girl. He asked a little shyly if she was the author of the note. She replied that she was, her voice trembling slightly. She was extremely pretty, and he could tell from her expression that she was barely containing her distress.
She spoke in faltering English. ‘Please, I need to leave Greece. I am desperate,’ she pleaded, ‘Take me with you. You could smuggle me out with the British troops. Please…’ Herford felt a surge of compassion well within him, but he knew it was out of the question. He would have taken her if he could, but to what? Every man and item of equipment loaded on board the evacuation craft would be checked and accounted for. He would only be leading her into trouble as well as himself.
He tried to explain that he couldn’t take her. The girl listened, fighting back her disappointment. She left him without crying, but he was in no doubt that she was merely saving her tears from him. He left the restaurant with a heavy heart, wondering what would become of the beautiful young woman under the Nazi yoke.
It was late afternoon when Herford pulled away on the second leg of his journey to Argos. A little distance along the road he stopped to pick up a solitary Australian soldier who had become separated from his unit and wanted to get to Argos. A second pair of eyes in the cab was extremely useful for spotting enemy aircraft. As they drew closer to their destination there were increasing numbers of burning vehicles at the side of the road. Several times German bombers came in overhead, but each time they were bound elsewhere or had already discharged their cargo. The chief objective seemed to be destroying the means of escape, and Herford witnessed several planes attacking a number of small boats just off the coast, only several hundred yards from the road.
As darkness fell they were more than two-thirds of the way to their destination. They passed another group of soldiers who were also thumbing a lift, so Herford let them jump on board. Progress was tortuously slow as the narrow road was winding and hilly, and a strict blackout was enforced. He could drive no faster than a snail’s pace. At one stage they passed 24 CCS at the roadside. Their train had been bombed and they were waiting for transport. The 3-ton truck was already at full capacity, so Herford was unable to offer them a lift. They crawled into Argos at midnight. The passengers bid Herfo
rd farewell and left for the nearby port of Nafplion, the main evacuation point in the area. Herford scoured the town for an HQ or information post but could find nothing which looked even vaguely like an administrative centre. He was wandering like a lost soul when he was approached by an excitable Greek policeman who asked in broken English if he was an English officer. When Herford answered that he was, the policeman led him quickly back through the blackout to a police station where there was an urgent telephone call waiting.
At the other end was a Captain Rose, who had been trying all day to get hold of Brigadier Lee, who was meant to be in charge of the evacuation at Argos, but the Brigadier was nowhere to be found. Rose was running out of patience. He had an urgent message from the Commander in Chief of the Mediterranean forces concerning a change in the evacuation plans. It was vitally important that it be communicated to someone in authority. He pleaded with Herford to go out and find an operational officer who could take the message.
The only thing Herford could do was to stop staff cars at random which were interspersed in the convoys of troop carriers passing through the town. After several unsuccessful attempts to interest passing officers in the message, he stopped two brigadiers who immediately went to take the message from Rose. Herford overheard the conversation, and was left in no doubt that the situation had descended into a shambles and was ‘going blind’. There was a complete absence of central organization in the troop movements, and things had almost descended to the level where it was every man for himself.
Still needing to find a competent officer to advise him on the distribution of his lorry load of supplies, he continued to wave down staff cars in the hope of finding someone who was vaguely willing to assume authority. To his surprise he stopped a car containing Colonel Alexander and Major Traill. They had just come in from Athens on their way to Nafplion.
Alexander had not heard anything about expected battles in the Peloponnese, and fully expected the evacuation to be completed within two days. There seemed to be an almost total lack of communication between senior officers, a fact which reinforced in Herford’s mind the view he had already formed – that the backbone of an army is its lines of communications. Colonel Alexander was unable to help with the whereabouts of 189 LFA, and advised him to leave the supplies with a Greek hospital and get himself evacuated at once. Herford was not content simply to off-load his responsibility, and continued intercepting staff cars until he met Colonel Baldwin of 81 Base Sub Area who had with him two 15 cwt signals trucks. Baldwin suggested he follow him to Kalamata, a major embarkation point some 150 miles south-west where the stores would be greatly appreciated.
Herford dutifully joined the little convoy and negotiated yet more tortuous mountain roads for the rest of the night. By dawn he could no longer keep his eyes open, and simply fell asleep at one of their halts. One of the signals drivers offered to relieve him for a while, and Herford gratefully accepted the opportunity for a nap in the passenger seat. But within half an hour the driver lost control of the truck and ditched it irretrievably.
The signalmen off-loaded some of the stores onto their lorries, but extricating the 3-tonner was out of the question. One of them agreed to stay behind while the others proceeded to Kalamata. Herford retrieved his motorbike and went to see if he could find transport which could carry his supplies to their destination. He returned unsuccessful several hours later, only to find that his companion had allowed passing Greeks to take what they wanted from the stranded lorry! Herford was extremely angry, and decided that he would have to guard it himself in the hope that one of the passing vehicles would be sufficiently empty to load up his supplies. But as he waited tiredness overcame him again, and in his moments of sleep locals descended as if from nowhere and helped themselves.
Fortunately one of the passing staff cars contained Colonel Jasper Blunt, the British military attaché in Greece. He posted his driver to guard the lorry and took Herford down to his HQ in Tripolis from where he later sent back a truck to collect the remaining stores. This was a welcome meeting – in Tripolis Herford had a wash, shave, some food and a few hours’ much needed rest. Determined to see his job through, Herford climbed back on board his motorcycle and drove from Tripolis to Kalamata to oversee the distribution of the supplies ferried there by the signalmen. Not surprisingly, Kalamata was the scene of considerable chaos. The olive groves were filled with English, Australian and New Zealand soldiers, but the HQ was nowhere to be found. The signalmen were meant to be co-ordinating the communications for the evacuation, but even they had no idea what was happening. Herford sought out a Greek hospital and gave them his supplies, which were gratefully received. It seemed to be the only organized medical facility in the entire area.
He passed an uncomfortable night camping with some Australian soldiers in an olive grove before returning to Tripolis the following day. The road was jammed with troop carriers, but fortunately there were no air raids; otherwise they would have been sitting ducks. Twice Herford had to stop to administer first aid: once to a Greek driver whose lorry had been machine gunned, and once to an Australian sergeant who had struck a match while sitting on a petrol can in the back of a truck, giving himself severe burns. On his return to Tripolis, he went at Colonel Blunt’s suggestion to the Tripolis hospital to drop off some of his bulkier supplies. There he visited a number of severely wounded British soldiers who were too ill to be moved. They were desperately anxious to be evacuated, but when it was explained to them that it was simply impossible they accepted stoically and without protest. At this time the foremost German troops were only several miles to the north. The New Zealanders had taken up the rear-guard position just outside Tripolis and would hold off the enemy until the following day when it was hoped the evacuation would be completed.
Herford made his final journey in Greece overnight with the help of a Greek guide who led him and Captain Fisher, an MO, the 108 miles south from Tripolis to Monemvasia, a small port on the southernmost tip of the Peloponnese. Here he stashed the remainder of the supplies in a medical hut, for use by any troops bringing up the rear, although he himself was very near the tail end of the evacuation. He was due to leave that evening in a caique (a Greek boat) with Colonel Blunt and a party of other officers, and so for the rest of the day he lay low. There was considerable bombing, but of the kind specifically designed to draw fire and pin-point concentrations of Allied troops. In the far distance could be heard much heavy bombing coming from Nafplion. One of the British ships in the harbour, SS Slamat, was overloaded with troops when it was struck by a direct hit. Two escort ships, HMS Wryneck and HMS Diamond picked up many of those from the foundering ship, but both were then sunk with further direct hits with almost total loss of life. They had run out of ammunition. Herford was extremely grateful that he had persisted with his distribution of medical supplies; otherwise he might well have been one of those killed in the Nafplion evacuations. Colonel Blunt’s party gathered on the shore at dusk and waited anxiously for the arrival of the caique. It was several hours late, and for a time they wondered whether the Germans would arrive before their boat, but eventually through the darkness came the reassuring chug-chug of the diesel engine.
Fifteen men boarded the tiny vessel together with a quantity of medical supplies, and set off across the choppy sea to the small island of Kythera. Herford and Blunt sat at the bow, a groundsheet spread over their knees to keep off the spray. The little boat bobbed up and down erratically, its engine whirring noisily when it crested a high wave, but the boatman handled his craft expertly, even with such a heavy payload.
Herford produced a medical water bottle of fine rum from an abandoned RAF lorry, which helped to pass the time and keep out the cold from the keen wind. Under the cloak of night they were safe from enemy aircraft and could enjoy a few carefree hours after so many days of high drama. Herford and Blunt had much in common and their conversation ran freely from the Greek campaign to philosophy and the future of Europe. Blunt was widely travelled, he knew India
and the Far East, and he was an expert falconer. The caique reached the shores of Kythera at dawn, where the party spent the day before being collected by a Royal Navy cruiser later that night. Never one to let the opportunity of climbing a mountain pass by, Herford spent the day with a New Zealander, Corporal Curd, climbing to the summit of the island where they explored an abandoned monastery, and after the hard climb drank eagerly from a water butt filled with perfectly pure-tasting rain water. The HMS Auckland appeared off-shore in the early evening. In a rough swell Herford’s party and 750 RAF personnel climbed aboard. The decks were jam-packed, and the crossing to Crete was an uncomfortable one. At Crete Colonel Blunt took most of his party ashore. One of their number, Colonel Quillam, Director of Military Intelligence, Greece, suggested that Herford come on with him to Alexandria, the Auckland’s next port of call, and from there back to Cairo. Crete held no particular attraction, so Herford decided the better course was to attempt to rejoin his original unit in Egypt. (At that stage nobody suspected an imminent German invasion of Crete, and the Greek government and King had moved there. Colonel Blunt was to take care of them.)
On the morning of 1 May Herford arrived in a busy Alexandria harbour, from where he took the train to Cairo. Brigadier Large happened to be on the same train, and requested a detailed report of his movements from when he left Athens. Herford conscientiously wrote up his report as soon as he had snatched a few hours’ rest in Shepherd’s hotel, but it provided little useful information other than that communications generally, and particularly in the medical service, had been extremely poor, bordering on non-existent. Whatever procedures had been in place had crumbled to dust during the retreat.